


Medical Massage for Dummies

by kipli



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Sherlock, Vocal John, top!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:30:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kipli/pseuds/kipli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's back aches the morning after Sherlock uses John as his personal stepladder to continue the chase. Sherlock surprisingly offers to work out the knots himself, only to find John's reaction to his massage intriguing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medical Massage for Dummies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vanillabuzz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillabuzz/gifts).



> **Note:** I was aching for some fluffy, cute Johnlock sex and I was having a hell of a time finding something to scratch that itch. So, I took matters into my own hands. Enjoy this PWP impromptu tackling. No beta.
> 
> And no, I'm not a masseuse so all errors in that department are mine, though if you're busy picking that aspect apart then I clearly haven't done my job with the porn.
> 
>  **Dedication:** For [Vanillabuzz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillabuzz/pseuds/vanillabuzz) <3

“Do stop your moaning.” Sherlock's rumble carried all the undertones of annoyance radiating off the man who sat diligently bent over his experiments spread out on the kitchen table. John gave another pained groan simply to spite the inconsiderate prick as John settled into his chair in the living room. Sherlock didn't look up from his work as he chastised, “Please do not stoop to such childish antics, John.”

“You haven't even said you're sorry yet. I'll bloody well moan and whinge all I like.” John stretched his back in a fruitless attempt to ease the tension in his shoulders. The previous evening Sherlock had quite literally and without warning climbed up John's back and shoulders to get himself up and over the fence blocking them from the murderer. He'd done it with such a flourish that it had sent John slamming into the nearby gate as well. He'd not been warned. He'd had no chance to steady himself. Hell, he'd had no chance to come up with a fucking better idea than Sherlock using him as a stepladder. The idiot had simply taken the first idea to pop into his head, an idea that wasn't sound with anyone much less a man with shoulder issues and a wound to prove it. His back stretched a bit but then a spike of pain sent John into another irritated whine. He was going to have to see someone. A night's rest with a heat pack and a long, long hot shower this morning had done relatively little to ease the tension and irritation. Fuck that was just how he wanted to spend his day, waiting around to be manhandled at a clinic.

Sherlock gave a mild grumble in response to John's continued vocalizations. He answered distractedly to the accusation, “I placed my weight solidly on your right shoulder. I was not inconsiderate. I was not to know you'd lose your balance and time was of the essence.”

“You could have fucking warned me!” John snapped.

“Noted,” Sherlock replied absently.

John huffed loudly and collapsed back again his chair as best he could, covering his face with his hands and scrubbing. He'd have to dress. It had been difficult enough to pull on his pajama bottoms and dressing gown. He'd have to get a cab. He'd have to wait to be seen. He'd have to endure whatever was prescribed. What if he'd torn something? He couldn't bloody handle physical therapy, again. He whined simply at the memory of the experience.

“Will you be at this all day? If so, I'll relocate to Bart's-”

John growled at the inconsiderate question and snapped heatedly, interrupting the man, “I should. I should fucking tie you there and make you listen to me whinge on all damn day but no. No, Sherlock. I've got to go get dressed. Somehow. And find my way to a clinic. And get this sorted. And god help you if it's something not easily sorted, Sherlock. If it's torn I don't... Fuck.” He roughly rubbed at his features in exasperation before dropping his hands onto his lap. 

He blinked in surprise to find Sherlock had silently and abruptly moved from his perch in the kitchen to standing before him in the living room. The detective was in full deduction mode, his gaze flicking from one point on John to another. John shot him an annoyed glare but he couldn't hide his surprise and mild comfort at Sherlock finally fucking paying attention. A moment later and the man met his gaze.

“You've pulled and strained your left shoulder but you have not torn the muscle. The way you hold your shoulders and tilt away from the back of the seat suggests-”

“Sherlock, I don't care how you think you know I've not torn it, but it hasn't hurt like this in fucking ages and I'll have to get it sorted.” John sighed at the man. At least he was attempting to soothe his fears, and if John was honest, he did calm quite a bit at Sherlock's deduction. Perhaps he wouldn't need physical therapy after all. It was a comfort that would keep him from going mad with worry waiting at the clinic. He moved to stand with another involuntary groan as his back complained.

“Of course, quite right.” Sherlock nodded. John supposed it would be the closest he'd get to an apology. He wasn't surprised when Sherlock turned to stalk his way back into the kitchen but then the other man barked. “Lie down.”

John paused halfway across the living space and cast a look at Sherlock rummaging in the kitchen cabinets. “What?”

“I said _lie down_ ,” Sherlock grudgingly repeated himself, something he only did for John, occasionally. He pulled out the rather large medkit from one of the lower cabinets. Living with Sherlock had taught John to stockpile nearly everything. The man cast a look at John and then flicked his gaze further past him to the couch against the far wall. “The sofa should do but there's always the floor or my bed if you'd rather.”

John raised both his eyebrows now. “ _What?_ ”

“Please, John. I'm hardly averse to sorting out your back myself. There's no need for the clinic. Lie down.”

How... How had the man gone from callously wondering if he should leave for Bart's because of John's whining to... to offering to massage and work out his back himself? John reeled more from the sudden shift in priorities than the offer itself, though the offer was unusual in it's own rare way. John often took care of Sherlock after a case but it had to be rather pointedly obvious to Sherlock before he offered to help John. Apparently this had finally ticked that box for the detective.

John still hesitated. He didn't want to go down to the clinic. Fuck, he didn't even want to attempt to contort his back to dress properly. Yet would this really help? Would this really fix the ache in his shoulder? A simple rub down from Sherlock? He cocked a grin at the double entendre in his own head. Well, that too would help, but another time perhaps. Though likely not. Somehow he doubted he could ever talk Sherlock into the idea, or rather doubted John could ever be more interesting to rub down than Sherlock's microscope slides.

He was caught with a silly grin on his face, still paused mid-way in the living room, as Sherlock returned with a tube of Deep Heat. He cocked his head at John, mildly perplexed by his still being upright. “Standing would not be optimal for this procedure.”

John flushed slightly as he cast a glance at the tube in Sherlock's hand. “No, I just...” Sherlock wasn't qualified. He wasn't overly into touching period. Yet he was offering. If it worked, he wouldn't have to drag his arse out for the day. It was something of a unique offer for Sherlock to _want_ to touch him. John relented. “Christ, fine. Okay. I suppose you can't do much more damage.” Sherlock tossed him a pointed look at the comment but held his tongue as John turned and crossed to the sofa. Sherlock followed behind him. He considered a moment, then gave in and glanced back at Sherlock. “Help me shuck off this gown.” He tugged at one end but struggled not to move his back or shoulders at the move.

Sherlock's sigh was almost sympathetic. He reached for the back of John's collar and helped to slide the light robe off smoothly without requiring John to contort as he'd had to do putting it on. He turned to drape the robe over the back of nearest chair as John did his best to settle on his stomach on the sofa in merely his pajama bottoms. He was short but not _quite_ so short as to fit on the sofa easily. He grunted as he settled his feet to dangle off the end on the armrest. John would have preferred to fold his arms and rest his head against them but that was out of the question at the moment. Instead they laid to his sides as he turned his head toward Sherlock descending to his knees beside the sofa.

“Are you comfortable?” Sherlock took him in with one long glance before settling his piercing gaze on John's face resting against the sofa's seat cushion.

Really? He was even getting bedside manners from Sherlock? Today was suddenly his lucky day. He managed a smile at Sherlock. “As I'll ever be. Just... don't apply too much pressure at first, for god's sake.”

“I'm not utterly ignorant as to what I'm doing, John.” Sherlock shook his head as he uncapped the medicated menthol tube and spread a fair amount on his fingers.

“What, seriously? You've got Medical Massage for Dummies in that brain of yours but you don't care to know the Earth revolves around the Sun?”

“Which bit of knowledge am I more likely to need with a wounded vet as a friend and flatmate?” Sherlock countered as he rather gently brushed long fingers across John's back and gingerly spread the Deep Heat along his skin, concentrating on his left shoulder and the corresponding muscles.

“Fine. Point taken. I just...” John's words faltered as the cream penetrated into his skin, warming his muscles and blissfully loosening the tight knot. Sherlock's touch was soothing combined with the cream. Unerringly Sherlock knew just where to spread the cream, fingertips brushing over both smooth skin as well as the exit wound that currently ached. His touch remained light but the cream itself was doing wonders already where the hot shower had done little. “That is rather fantastic...”

Sherlock merely hummed an acknowledgement, his touch shifting into less a brushing of fingers to a gentle push. It was still pleasant. John took him in a moment, bent over him, intensely focused on muscles and skin and the task at hand. He was always gorgeous when he was focused and John particularly enjoyed being the focus point. Sherlock leaned forward to inspect each minute reaction to his touch. John wondered absently if he was somehow _seeing_ those muscles loosen at his touch. The man was a bloody genius, even with his fingers. Sherlock rubbed up along his back and John shivered as Sherlock leaned closer. Well he was certainly feeling better if he was already daydreaming.

Sherlock paused at the shiver and cocked his head. John closed his eyes before the man could flick his gaze to his face. Still, Sherlock uttered in a quiet tone, “Was that uncomfortable? It shouldn't have been.”

“No. No it's fine. Continue.” John tried his best to school his answer. “Please.”

Sherlock remained paused a moment longer and John could nearly feel the man deducing him. Fuck it if he did figure him out so easily. It wouldn't be the first time. Blissfully the man eventually did continue, his touch gentler than previously. More cream was added and soothingly applied with brushing strokes. It was likely John's imagination, with his eyes closed and nothing else to pay attention to, but the touches seemed more... tender. Less clinically attempting to soothe John and more lingering in their warm strokes.

John could not stop a sigh of pleasure as Sherlock returned to firmer massaging strokes that focused on his upper left back. It was firm pressure but perfectly pointed at just the right spot. “Yes...”

“It does not hurt?” Sherlock soothed. His low voice looming just above John sent another involuntary shiver through him. Fuck, this entire event was going to fuel dozens of fantasies. If Sherlock noticed the shiver, he didn't stop in his ministrations this time.

“No,” John answered breathlessly, only to give a pleasured moan as Sherlock worked harder against the knot in his back. If only his physical therapy had felt half as good as this. “Please don't stop.”

“Of course not,” Sherlock replied, and John swore he heard a smirk in the man's voice as he added, “I'm not finished with you.”

Fucking hell. Even Sherlock ought to know how he sounded with that remark. John didn't have time to think of a retort. The man shifted more upright, straightening up on his knees, and pushing down all the more firmly at just the right angles and positions to ease the shoulder muscles. John's involuntary moan in response was positively salacious. He moaned low and blissful at the touch. He was going to have to recruit Sherlock for massages more bloody often. It was incredible. He had no idea how he managed to rub and push in such a way as to undo the tension so easily in John's shoulders.

The pressure eased a bit as Sherlock shifted his position beside him. The man gave an annoyed grunt and muttered to John, “You would pick the sofa and not somewhere that would offer proper leverage.” He pushed again but seemed unhappy with the results, although John groaned in relieved pleasure again. The pressure eased once more.

John muttered before be could think better of it, “Christ, Sherlock, I'll move anywhere you like at this point.”

There was the barest snort of amusement from Sherlock, only to be followed by an actual teasing comment, “Had I known you became so pliant, I would have offered my services sooner.”

John chuckled a little blissfully, only to grunt a complaint as Sherlock's hands left his shoulder. He heard Sherlock swear under his breath and move up onto his feet. John opened his eyes only in time to see the ends of Sherlock's silk dressing gown flutter out of view behind him. Then he felt the taller man straddling his lower back. John's eyes went wide as Sherlock settled his knees on either side of John on the narrow sofa. “Wha-” John managed to get out before Sherlock's hands returned to his shoulder and the new position allowed him to finally apply the pressure he'd been searching for. There was a mild ache at the firm pressure and the working of muscles but then everything also seemed to relax at the downward push. John's moan was loud and utterly unstoppable. His eyes closed again and his mouth hung open against the seat cushion as Sherlock's hands worked away even the deepest of knots. It was heavenly. “ _Sherlock_ ,” he gasped in likely too dreamy of a tone for the situation but he couldn't bloody help it.

There was a pleased, low rumble from the man straddling him and a shift in pressure, working out another knot with expert grace. Fucking hell was there nothing Sherlock couldn't master from a bloody book? The firm, easing pressure down worked away the last remnants of pain. His back relaxed and his shoulder thrummed with pleasure and warmth. He was a bloody miracle worker. The deep tissue massage continued in a methodical fashion from one point to another as Sherlock searched out the last of the contorted muscles and eased them into relaxation. John was a mess of happy moans that refused to stop. The night and morning of aching pain had been bloody worth it to have in the end the best massage of his life from Sherlock himself.

His bliss filled mind was slow to register when the deep, firm thrusts down eased. Long, delicate fingers were still on him and he didn't much care how he was touched at this point so long as Sherlock continued. The strokes turned lighter. They brushed over shoulder and back. They soothed against and circled around the exit wound. They were almost an apology through touch. It sunk into John's pleasure addled mine and he muttered dreamily in response, “S'okay, Sherlock.”

He missed the slight release of breath from Sherlock above him, something that could be construed as a remorseful sigh if he'd paid attention to it, but John's mind was elsewhere as Sherlock's now light touch brushed over to his good shoulder. John shivered as those fingertips dragged short nails over his skin and his other hand slid up along the back of his neck. John nearly purred with contentment and arched up into the touch. Only as those fingers continued up to thread into the back of John's hair did his mind begin to register the shift in mood. Sherlock was touching him. Not massaging him. Not soothing him. This had nothing to do with John's shoulder. His mind rushed to catch up with events, and in his pause in happy pliant encouragements to Sherlock, the man straddling him paused as well. John felt those fingers in his hair begin to pull away. Oh no you don't, you shy git. John instantly purred another encouragement and lifted his head a bit like a cat itching to be stroked, not allowing Sherlock to pull those fingers away. There was a pause from the man. He wondered if Sherlock would self-consciously retreat now that John was well aware of the touches and not lost in a happy daze. Things could still be brushed off at this moment.

Fingers gently twisted in his hair and nails brushed along his scalp. The happy moan in response from John was no act. The other hand on his good shoulder slid down with fingertips ghosting along warm skin. They teased a trail down along his right side to brush over an exposed hip. John shivered and half suppressed a gasp. The fingers in his hair dragged short nails firmly down the back of his neck. Both hands moved to John's lower back and palms brushed warm and soothing in a slow stroke together up his back. John arched into the touch with a long, low hum. The hands came up to his shoulders and brushed down along his arms to his sides, coming to lightly tease over open palms. John flicked fingers up to tease back in return and earned a low release of breath that John did hear this time around. Hands returned to brushing fingertips along both his sides as Sherlock bent closer. John half expected a bruising comment about John's more basic nature always ruling his body and emotions before Sherlock fluttered off from this experiment. He felt Sherlock lean forward enough to speak into his ear. He braced himself mentally but his body was too happy with the continued strokes along his sides.

Instead the tone was quiet, low and effortlessly seductive as Sherlock murmured, “Are you always so vocal?”

John's mind reeled. Sherlock didn't clarify the tease to tailor it to being vocal during a massage, instead leaving it open ended, to include the encouragement he'd given to Sherlock's continued touch. He groaned lightly at the voice and the tease and the warmth of the man hovering over his back. “No,” he managed to gasp in response. Fuck it, in for a penny, in for a pound. He continued, “There's something different... about your touch.”

A low, analysing hum greeted him in response. The fingers brushing up and down John's sides continued on endlessly. Then the teasing tone returned to Sherlock's voice as stated the very firm fact, “You enjoy my touch.”

John flushed pink but the truth was hard to argue. He was tempted a moment to bluntly roll over and show Sherlock just how much he enjoyed his touch but he'd rather not frighten the idiot off. Instead, John offered his own observed fact, “And you enjoy touching me.”

“I enjoy the response my touch earns,” Sherlock murmured immediately into his ear, clarifying the fact. His hands paused in their strokes to hold John by the hips. “I did not anticipate your vocalizations to be so... distracting.” Gentle lips pressed a kiss behind his ear. The man settled his weight on John. Shoulders, back, bum. Firm lean weight pressed from Sherlock's chest down to his hips. Their thin layers did little to hide the firm length pressed against John's arse. The hands on John's hips tightened.

John's eyes flew open even as he gasped loudly in surprise. Only Sherlock would label being turned on by John's moaning a distraction. He'd probably rather be back to his experiments by now but he was 'stuck' pinning John down instead. Fuck, it didn't bloody matter. He'd finally gotten Sherlock's attention. John rocked his bum up against the hands and hips pinning them down. His eyes rolled closed again as Sherlock fucking moaned low into his ear. The man's voice ought to be illegal. John's voice dropped into a teasing growl, “I can help with that _distraction_ , you know.”

Sherlock panted in his ear. John allowed the idiot genius to weigh his options. He expected ultimatums or demands or a brushing off to take care of himself. The quiet voice that eventually whispered into his ear was not one he'd expected. “I do not wish to change our dynamic irrevocably, John.”

John smiled against the sofa cushions. “You adorable sap.” His eyes opened and turned his head, brushing noses as Sherlock stayed put hovering over his shoulder. He met the dilated but still calculating eyes that flashed a stunning green-blue. “Everything will stay the same, Sherlock. Only I'll be more than happy to moan for you any day hence forth.” His lips curved into a cheeky grin.

There was a responding twitch from Sherlock's lips. “Well... your back may require several _weeks_ of therapy.”

“And it's so very kind of you to look after me,” John murmured in reply to the promise. He broached the short distance between them and arched to kiss the man. It was gentle and soothing, reassuring.

The kiss broke and Sherlock's voice was a low rumble against John's lips, “It's the least I can do.”

“Indeed,” John huffed in a mock tease, though all anger over the previous night was long gone. The kiss was harder this time, more demanding. Hips rolled up against Sherlock, not allowing the man forget his own arousal. The low, hungry moan into the kiss was priceless. Sherlock rutted down against him. His hips shifted to press his length between John's bum cheeks through the fabric.

The kiss broke with a wet smack of lips and a throaty moan from John. The moan from him sent a shudder through Sherlock and hands pinned John down tighter. One question amongst many was if Sherlock had never had a vocal partner or if it was John's being vocal that did it specifically. Such questions would have to wait, with the rubbing down against his bum sending John's own firm cock rutting against the cushions. “Bed?”

There was a low, almost predatory growl into John's ear. “Want you here.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” John whined merely at the statement. It was beyond appealing but he pushed to force some reality into the situation. “No lube here. No condoms. And you need to wash the Deep Heat off those hands before you touch anything.”

There was an annoyed huff from Sherlock. In a sudden rush of movement the man was off the sofa and on his feet, robe snapping in the whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes. He disappeared out of sight. John was left panting alone on the sofa. He wondered if he ought to follow. Was it an invitation to Sherlock's room? Was it a dismissal of the entire event as too much of a bother? He really couldn't cope with finding Sherlock back to his experiments. 

Then he heard running water in the kitchen and the distinct sound of washing. John's heart leaped into overdrive. He had truly gone to fetch lube and condoms and wash his hands? John smiled ridiculously wide at the sound of running water. It was no quick rinse either, Sherlock made time to thoroughly remove the medicated rub from his hands. Yes, oh fuck yes. John shimmied on the sofa, pulling his pajama bottoms off down his legs without moving too much from where Sherlock left him. It was worth the surprised stutter in Sherlock's step as he returned to the room to find a naked John. The tent in Sherlock's bottoms was unmistakable. He paused to stare, his gaze flicking up and down John's backside on display.

“I'm getting cold...” John teased with a purposeful moan, arching his back.

The moan more than anything else pulled the tall man out of his trance. The rush of movement resumed. Sherlock's robe and shirt were tossed aside. The lubricant and an odd sample packet of rubbers were set beside John on the sofa. Where the hell did he get those condoms anyway? Sherlock's bottoms were shucked off and the man's weight returned to the sofa and pressed against John. His hard cock was pressed against John's bare bum. Warm and faintly damp hands were brushed against skin. John moaned low, rutting back against the tease, and the sound of Sherlock's panting grew louder at the encouragement. 

Please no stopping now. “I want more,” John encouraged with a whine, thrusting back against Sherlock. “Please.”

The beg sent another shiver through Sherlock. Hips stilled as he groped for the lubricant. Previously opened lubricant. Good to know the man had some regular sex drive. The weight on him shifted and John's legs were spread. One dropped to drape off the edge of the sofa but fuck it didn't matter at this point. Delicate fingers were soon teasing over his entrance and making quick work of pushing one and then two into him. He was not surprised Sherlock knew what he's doing, particularly after the massage, but there would have to be a discussion on past experiences at some point. Later. Oh fuck, stop thinking. Fingers. Fingers against his prostate. “ _Yes!_ ” The shout earned a growl from Sherlock. John was quickly lost into ridiculously loud and pleasured moans as Sherlock spent time stretching. Or more to the point, time enjoying just how loud and salacious he could get John's moans with various degrees of contact to his prostate. The stretching was a side benefit.

Who bloody knew Sherlock was fucking godly with those fingers?

He nearly didn't notice the pause to unwrap the rubber. John was too lost in a sea of pleasure again. If Sherlock was truly up to doing this again, they would have to soundproof the flat. Was Mrs. Hudson out today? He couldn't recall. Lips pressed to the back of his neck as something more blunt was pressed to John's entrance. “ _Oh fuck, oh fuck yes, now,_ ” he babbled and he heard Sherlock's husky chuckle against his skin. John's hands moved up to cling to the sofa cushions as Sherlock sunk his length into him. “ _Sher- Sherlock..._ ”

The pace was slow but unerringly hit John's prostate over and over again. The man was a ridiculous mass of moaning pleasure. He'd never been quiet during sex but this was beyond previous experiences. It seemed Sherlock's touch set off every pleasure node in his brain. Kissing to his neck turned into mouthing sucks and firm bites. The sofa squeaked in protest at the firm pace down. Skin smacking against skin. Firm hands on his hips. Harsh panting from the man who drove him fucking insane. Kisses found their way to behind John's ear again and the low voice was pure bloody sex. “How long have you wanted me, John? Tell me.”

“ _Ages_ ,” John whined in reply. It was the truth if a bit vague for the detective.

The other man growled and bit down behind his ear. “ _How long?_ ” He shifted them and lifted John's hips up off the sofa enough to drive down all the more directly to John's prostate.

John's mouth hung open in a perpetual moan as he struggled to answer properly. Fuck the man for wanting words but he would use this time to get the truth out of John. John would fucking tell him anything at this point. “ _First days_ ,” he managed to gasp, fingers clawing at the sofa cushions. “ _Angelo's. The run back to the flat. Wanted you on the stairwell._ ”

There was an almost annoyed growl from Sherlock and the pace shifted into something rough. The words, when they came, where snarled and laced with jealousy. “ _No more dates! No more women! No more!_ ”

John curved his back up to cling to the armrest as he was claimed both bodily and verbally. “ _None of them mattered, Sherlock. None... I promise no more. I... Oh Christ!_ ” The pace was manic. The world closed in on itself. It was only all Sherlock. Sherlock and his possessive growls. Sherlock and his claiming thrusts. Sherlock and his panting harsh breath. John moaned hoarse and endless. His cock ached and leaked against the sofa. So close. So insanely close. He buried his face against the armrest but turned his head at a bite to his neck from Sherlock. No muffling, no no, let him hear.

The peak rushed over them both too quickly but it was deliriously overwhelming. John's climax washed over him without a touch to his cock, making a mess of the sofa as he pulsed and squeezed the cock working his prostate. Sherlock's moan as he came was something beautiful. John memorized the tone and the delicious quiver. Sherlock undone, because of him.

Hips stilled and panting breath ghosted over John's neck as Sherlock collapsed on top of him. It seemed like a dream. It seemed unreal. It didn't feel as if he could be collapsed in a post-coital heap with Sherlock. Long minutes passed before there was a gentle kiss to the back of his neck. He didn't say a word but the move sent a shiver through John. His. He was Sherlock's. Fuck, please let it be the truth of it. John sighed with contentment.

The long moments lingered on and then a wry voice hummed into his ear, “Now will you be silent for the day or must I still relocate my work?”

John cocked a lopsided grin against the arm of the sofa. “Only if you _rub me down_ tomorrow.”

Sherlock merely hummed in agreement.

 

END


End file.
